fest fic: Nineteen Years and Counting (pt 3)
Tuesday takes too long to arrive. And, when it finally does, it's not half of what Merlin expects. Arthur ends up spending most of the day with his father, sending texts like 'just a little while longer' and 'dinner instead? need to talk xx' until he finally sends the official, 'i'm done, when can we talk?' text that makes Merlin's heart race and his magic flare, his laundry dancing out from under his bed and over the back of his chair to pile itself neatly in his basket while he grabs his house keys and his mobile.
Arthur's room is dark when he slips in. The telly is on mute and the lights are all off, the screen illuminating the floor just enough for Merlin to find his way to the bed without slamming his toe into the corner. Arthur, reading something on the screen of his mobile, smiles briefly over the edge before going back to what he was doing.
It's not quite the welcome Merlin expected. What he hoped for was an anxious press of lips, Arthur eager to touch him and maybe some sort of verbal acknowledgement of being missed but he accepts the smile as he settles at the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes before crawling over the covers to where Arthur is sitting, back against the headboard.
"How was it?"
Arthur shrugs. He taps something into his mobile and then sends it, going right back to it when it beeps a moment later. "It was alright," he answers, not bothering to look up. "More than I expected."
"Nice."
"Yeah."
Merlin waits - for something, anything - but Arthur doesn't look away from his phone, the tiny chime of letters being pressed and the beep it makes when it receives a response. He says, "Sooo" and then, when Arthur doesn't speak, he adds, "did I come over just to watch you text?"
This time Arthur looks up, eyes stern and mouth set in a solid line. "Merlin, can you just wait a minute?"
"I've been waiting."
"Then keep waiting. Christ."
"I didn't come over here to waste my time," Merlin argues, leaning forward to tug Arthur's mobile away. He's surprised when Arthur grips his wrist, stops it before he manages to get hold of his mobile. "Let go."
"What is it with you and being so impatient? I'm trying to figure something out and you're -"
"Waiting to be acknowledged? I mean, fuck, you asked me to come over. I set aside my entire day for -"
"Well get used to it, Merlin, the entire world doesn't revolve around you. I have things I'm responsible for and they have to come first."
So this is the Arthur Merlin always assumed existed, the one he struggled to avoid and hated purely on principle. This is Prince Arthur, not the little boy who once peeked around corners or who hid his hand between their legs to offer Merlin a bit of comfort on the ride of Cornwall. Long gone is the bloke Merlin said he'd miss during the trip and who'd told Merlin he wouldn't have an opportunity to miss him, he'd text him every minute of the day.
"What happened?"
Arthur sighs, brushes his fringe away from his eyes with the hand that isn't clutching his mobile like a lifeline. "My father and I spent the day discussing potential wives."
"You're upset because your father is getting remarried?"
Merlin feels slightly stupid when Arthur looks up, says, "No, Merlin; my father isn't getting remarried" because it clicks then and all Merlin can say is, "oh."
There is silence after that. Occasionally Arthur's mobile beeps but he doesn't answer it; it sits cradled in his hands but he doesn't look away from Merlin's face, from the way Merlin's biting at his bottom lip and can't seem to focus on just one thing. He feels this irrational urge to tell himself, "I told you so" because... Well, he told himself so. He knew from the very beginning, told Arthur himself, that this was sex - it was fucking, not dating - and they weren't friends. They each had two separate lives to lead, two different paths to follow and Arthur had more than himself to think about.
Merlin had nothing but himself to think about and he'd still lost track of that, allowed himself to feel things for Arthur when he knew that it was silly, stupid - wrong.
"I'm working something out, I think. I can't come out and tell her I'm gay just yet but a girl I met on the trip was one of my father's suggestions and -"
"And you want to use her to cover up the fact that you’re gay?"
Arthur nods. He gestures at Merlin with one of his hands, eyes stony and lips down-turned. "How do I explain you to the world?"
"You can't."
"Exactly, which is why -"
"But I don't want to be someone's secret, either," Merlin interrupts, finally focusing on Arthur's face. He watches the storm of emotion - the anger, the understanding, the resentment and then, finally, the betrayal. But it's not fair that Arthur is the one who feels like Merlin is in the wrong - anyone who genuinely cared wouldn't expect someone to live their life in secret, would they? Merlin doesn't think he could ever look someone in the eye and say, 'I love you but no one can know', 'I'm going share a bed with someone else but I'll come around to visit, I swear', 'We're having a baby but you can help pick the name, okay?'
Aloud, Merlin says, "I have a life to live too, Arthur. There is more than just your reputation involved in this scenario." If he sounds a little angry, that's probably because he is. He is angry. Mostly it's at himself but... But he's having a hard time remembering what he's even angry about at the moment, he just knows that he is and that it hurts and that he's already tired of it.
"Merlin, if I really cared about my reputation I wouldn't have introduced you to my friends -" Merlin remembers them; they were nice people, better than the ones Arthur used to spend time with. Hell, they were even slightly normal. So why... "- and let them see that I regularly spend time with someone who can't even wear a shirt that hasn't been washed so many times that the colour is practically gone? I've never seen a dirtier pair of trainers in my life than yours and -"
"Go on, tell me how you really feel, then!"
"- and you don't even have any real plans for yourself. You want to spend your life doing charity work. How is that meant to pay the bills, Merlin? How is anyone meant to survive that way?"
Merlin can't hold back his laugh. "What would you know about bills and survival?"
That's the key, though; their differences are what define them, not their similarities. All the days Merlin spent pretending otherwise make him feel like a fool. It makes him feel sick - not the slightly nauseous feeling he's been getting when he rolls out of bed too fast to make it to work on time or to dress before the maids come in for Arthur's sheets but the slow, all-consuming feeling of sickness that makes his knees feel like jelly and his stomach clench, leaves his legs shaky and his fingers trembling.
For a moment he feels so much that he can't describe a single thing. It's all a mess of want-hate-need that he's torn between forcing himself to stay, to take what's being offered and try to make it work and just getting out while there's still hope for not becoming so attached that he'll never be able to let the memories of his summer go.
He thinks he might already have problem enough trying to forget them as-is, much less after two years of holding on to them while he and Arthur fall apart.
Arthur has the nerve to look mad. He doesn't look disappointed when Merlin says, "Whatever, Your Highness" and "This was going to happen anyway"; he doesn't look like he's reconsidering a single thing he said when Merlin stands, lifting his leg and reaching back to pull the edge of his trainer over the back of his foot as he struggles to make it to the door as fast as he can manage without seeming desperate.
Because he's not desperate; he doesn't give a fuck what Arthur has to say.
Really.
Except that he kind of does. He gives a fuck. He cares so much that he thinks about it the entire way home, so much that he stops and buys himself a new pair of trainers - clean, white Adidas that cost him more than he's ever paid for trainers and then pushes a bottle of the shoe cleaner at the sales woman before he checks out just to make sure they stay that way, to save himself from ever having to listen to someone talk about how dirty his trainers are ever again.
And if someone does, now he can say 'I've heard worse from better' because... Well, he heard pretty bad from the fucking Prince of Wales, yeah? Not many rank higher than that... and that's the problem.
*
"Alright?"
He probably looks pretty ridiculous. He's wrestling his clothes into his bag and half of his boxes are bumping into one another, hopping across his barren room. The tape ran away hours ago, his comb has been raking through his hair for twenty minutes without pause and he's pretty sure that even if he does manage to get what is left of his clothes packed, half of the stuff he packed before will be out and in need of being repacked. "Perfect," he answers as he struggles to get the zip of his duffel to shut; he curses quietly when it catches the fleshy tip of his finger. "Obviously."
His mum says, "Yes, clearly" as she steps forward. She kicks one of Merlin's worn t-shirts out of the way and he doesn't jump to collect it; staring at it - colour faded, edges torn, stitches frayed - reminds him of his argument with Arthur though and maybe his mum is a mind-reader (or just has bloody awful timing) because she says, "Arthur asked about you today; he seemed pretty disappointed when I told him you were leaving tomorrow."
Not talking with his mum about this. Nope. Not happening.
"He says he texted you..."
Right on cue, Merlin's mobile vibrates in his pocket. It's the short, two second buzz of a reminder rather than a new text and Merlin knows are from Arthur. He's only peeked at them, caught a glimpses when he's tried to clear his notifications. He hasn't gone far enough to delete them though. That would mean tapping the list and he doesn't think he'd be able to stop himself if he started... "I've been busy."
His mum doesn't argue. She can't. He's kept himself busy enough to be out when she's home, to avoid conversations like these.
"It's fine," he tries. "I'll text him when I get there."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened." After a moment he adds, "Seriously" to sound a bit more convincing; she's looking at him like he's lying and, though he may be, she doesn't need to know that.
She doesn't need to know anything about it because it's over - done. Merlin is letting it go and maybe he's not losing his feelings for Arthur quite as fast as he gained them but he's making a fucking effort and he will succeed.
He's not toting around memories about being Prince Arthur's experiment for the rest of his life. He's better than that.
*
He's better than that until Christmas break when, weary and hidden under layers of clothing, Merlin arrives in Cornwall two days before his mum. Thankfully it gives Gaius just enough time to walk in on Merlin tugging off his shirt and raise a brow -- the one that means 'what have you done now?' -- because Merlin's always been on the lean side, bordering on lanky through more of his teenage years but now his stomach is outstretched, round and bordering on unnatural. Originally he chalked up his stomach issues -- the inability to hold anything down, the constant nausea -- to stress from being somewhere new, from the need to succeed and from the sudden separation from Arthur which, unexpectedly, fucking hurt. Then, when the nausea lessened and the roundness in his centre started, he blamed it on his insatiable desire for food. There was never enough, never anything sweet enough or sour enough or just right and he hadn't been so desperate food snacks at all hours since puberty when he's grown and grown and never felt full.
Gaius says otherwise. He says it's not food, it's destiny and Merlin rolls his eyes, gets ready to tell Gaius a few stones (which, okay, it's more than a few and he'll never be comfortable shirtless in front of someone again if it stays like this because... Well, it looks like a bump and -- yeah, no) doesn't have anything to do with destiny when Gaius says, "Does Prince Arthur know?"
And then all hell breaks loose.
They argue for two solid days about magic and how it works and Merlin denies, over and over again, that he's - you know, up the duff, because blokes don't have babies and he's known he wasn't interested in the opposite sex for a long time which has given him ample opportunity to research adoption and get comfortable with the idea of loving someone who might not have his nose or his colouring. Of course, it doesn't help that while Gaius is tugging dusty, ancient books off of a shelf in the corner and murmuring, "I'll show you, boy," there's a flutter of movement under Merlin's skin, right under the hand he has subconsciously resting over his swollen midsection.
It's even worse when Merlin knows, right then, that Gaius isn't lying. He's not sure what convinces him it's the truth, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, but he does. He doesn't even have to really read the passage about previous situations like his - years and years ago when 'destiny' was always involved - to, with a deep sigh that shutters through his body, accept the fact that, yes, he is having a child and, yes, it half-belongs to the Prince of Wales.
They don't talk about Arthur, though. It's the first thing Merlin says after Gauis explains the situation over Christmas dinner. He says, slowly so they both understand, "It's mine - just mine" and stares at them long and hard, daring either of them to argue.
Thankfully, they don't. It's probably the shock but, still, he appreciates that, for once, they keep their thoughts to themselves.
He feels bad about his mum uprooting herself, though. They tour flats together near Uni and she sighs, deep and sad, through the gritty noise from his speaker when she tells him that she's put in her notice and should be able to arrive within the week; the King is writing her an excellent recommendation and she's welcome back any time.
They both know she won't be back; she'd have to choose between Arthur and Merlin and... Well, for once he doesn't feel like he's in second place. For the first time, as juvenile as it sounds, he feels like he's important.
Then he feels terrible for finding something positive in the mess he's managed to make. He's forced himself and his mum both into a situation very few ever experienced - that none have experienced openly - and it's hard, for both of them, to balance work with finding the time to understand what exactly is going on, how it works and to put together the pieces of how they're going to manage to keep Merlin in school and his mum at work between caring for an infant.
His mum says, late one night when Merlin's back hurts and he's finally free of his layers in their relative peace of their tiny flat, "We're going to make it work" while Merlin pages through the baby name book she bought him months ago. He's still undecided and, as frustrating as it is, he can't stop wondering what Arthur would think about each and every name he highlights. He tosses and turns when he finally manages to fall asleep about what Arthur would do if he found out, how they might make it work and how King Uther might just allow it because, against all odds, Merlin and Arthur managed to define history again, unintentionally creating life that neither expected was even a possibility to -
He usually wakes up then, the shadow of Arthur's smile fading with his sleepy state until he's forced to face the world again, dress in layers though it's already April and warming quickly and pretend he can focus in class around the rough kicks against his bladder and the feel of his child rolling, twisting and squirming until it settles.
He just wishes he could be less worried and a bit more excited. After all, he'd wanted a piece of Arthur for himself at one point, hadn't he? And his magic had given him just that, even if it had done it in a completely unorthodox manner.
*
She's born on the 26th of May ; the birthday of the solicitous adventurer and Merlin scowls at the great big book of birthdays in the book shop when he sees that his daughter is a born politician who is meant to inspire others with her charisma and persistence. She makes plenty of noise, that's for certain and she's persistent, no doubt - most especially when she's hungry or angry or restless.
He names her Olivia; he likes the relation to the olive branch, how it symbolises truce and starting over. It's not really a possibility now and Merlin thinks that, even if it was, he probably wouldn't go back to Arthur but... Well, he remembers when he stares down at her sleeping face in her cot that she's something bigger than herself, is more dear to him than she will ever understand and is, without a doubt, the very best thing Arthur will ever do.
And if Arthur never knows that, it's his own damn fault for not giving Merlin enough time to show him.
Of course, when Merlin says that one morning while he spoons mashed peas into Olivia's unhappy mouth, his mum kicks at the legs of his chair and replies, "You know just how to find him, Merlin; he asked for you, tried to make things right and you -"
"Refused to be his hidden lover; yes, I can see how that would upset you," Merlin interrupts, attempting to keep his voice calm and his smile wide as he wiggles the spoon against Olivia's lips and tries again.
"He had a duty, Merlin."
"As do I." He points at Olivia, peas smeared over her lips and her cheek, blue eyes wide and pale hair a mess over her crown. She waves hello, curling her fingers as she says, "nan" until Merlin's mum can't help but smile and say, "Yes, you most certainly do."
*
Merlin sees Arthur on the cover of the newspapers on his walks to work and when he gets stuck queuing at the grocers and his heart aches just a little every time but he moves on, takes the steps forward and focuses on school and then, when he's finally defied the odds and finished, his career. As Olivia grows, he's forced to listen to the endless stream of interviews and public gossip on the telly when he's at home watching her learn to talk and teaching her to read or, later when Olivia is in her first year of school and already struggling to prove just how independent all that time teaching her made her, while he's making dinner next to his mum or wrestling Olivia into her pyjamas, promising fifteen more minutes if she'll just give - him - her - arm.
Like tonight.
"Olivia, I had a long, long day at work," Merlin tries, shaking her pale pink sleep shirt in an attempt to force her to take it. He bites his tongue from announcing just how much she reminds him of her father when she rolls her eyes, cocks her head to the side and replies, snootily, "Daddy, I had a long day, too. But I'm not ready for bed."
Of course, how could he forget? Wake up at eight, spend half a day at school, come home to lunch and free-time; the life of a child with everything is so, so rough... There are technically no laws against using magic on your children. It wouldn't hurt her much if he just... stunned her into being still, would it? "Olivia, please."
"I don't want to wear that shirt. Purple is my favourite colour this week."
"Olivia, now."
She sighs, taps her little foot and it takes all of Merlin's control not to just grab her and force her into the damn shirt himself. He's a grown man with magic; he can take a shaking, squealing six-year-old and win.
Maybe.
He gives up, tosses her pyjamas over the back of the sofa. "You're so much like him," is what he mumbles when he walks away and then, a moment later when Olivia rushes to stand in front of him, discarded pink shirt clutched in her hand, he realises that was exactly what she wanted - a mention of 'him', another reminder.
Christ, when is he going to stop being such a sucker?
"Who, daddy?" she presses. "Who am I like?"
"Me," Merlin answers honestly. She blinks slowly, scowls slightly and is obviously displeased with his answer even though it's as true as they come. She is manipulative in a childish way, knows that since she came home and told him that he was going to be 'dad' from now on because she was too old to call anyone 'daddy', that she could throw out the title anytime she wanted something especially difficult and Merlin, more often than not, would give in - pleased, secretly, to be reminded of the fact that she was still his little girl. She's also obnoxiously persistent; some days when she won't let something go, Merlin remembers pestering his mum about boarding school, begging to stay home and asking why?, why?, why? at every turn.
When they said payback was a bitch, they weren't lying. If he'd know then what he does now, he wouldn't have asked half as many questions as a child.
Olivia holds her hand out, presses it against his stomach in a movement meant to halt him. Her blonde hair is a mess, ponytail loose and fringe scattered in awkward directions over her forehead but her eyes are stern, collected. "No."
"You'll have ears like mine soon, too," Merlin whispers, ruffling her hair. She groans, 'dad' pitifully and he smiles , tells her again to go get changed. When she looks like she's prepared to argue, he offers her another fifteen minutes if she hurries up and then she's gone, sprinting off to her bedroom and declaring claim of the telly until she has to go to bed.
In the kitchen, hands deep in the soapy sink water, his mum shakes her head at him. "You let her walk all over you." Then, to add insult to injury, adds: "Arthur didn't even have that much freedom and he was -"
"My parenting skills are shit, I get it. You don't have to throw him into the mix to get your point across."
She raises a brow, hands him a dish towel and a clean, dripping plate and puts him to work. For a few short minutes they work in silence. She washes, scrubs the remnants of dinner from the plates and cutlery and then passes them to Merlin, watches him dry them and put them away just like they did when he was younger, working for allowance rather than much needed silence.
"I recorded the interview for you," she mentions when the telly in the living room comes to life. He can hear Olivia fumbling with the remote, laughing every once in awhile and then moving on to the next programme. "She'll probably watch it with you."
"I'm not interested." The plates clink when he stacks them on top of one another. He's seen enough - the grainy pictures blown up to triple their size on the cover of magazines, the rumours in big, bold print and the video clips that always appear in some portion the nightly news without fail.
His mum, as though she didn't hear him, says, "It was a nice interview; you'll enjoy it. He's very well spoken, now - grown out of his shell since we last saw him."
Right on cue, Olivia yells, "Dad, Gran said you would watch the Prince's speech with me tonight!"
And then his mum is off, drying her hands and pressing a kiss to his cheek, telling him to enjoy his Saturday tomorrow and make sure that Olivia doesn't manage to get lost in the park again because 'you shouldn't let her walk around like she's some sort of princess, Merlin.' She's out of the door before Merlin can argue, tell her to piss off or ask what the hell she was thinking when she promised he would watch Arthur's bloody engagement interview with Olivia.
"Dad!"
"Let me get a shower," Merlin replies, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. He ruffles her hair as he passes, tells her to go grab her brush and they'll watch the interview when he's done. She doesn't leave much time for anything more than the 'shower' part, though. She's knocking on the bathroom door as soon as he shuts the water off, demanding he hurry up as though it's on live television and not saved, available at any point in time until he deletes it and then, as he's sliding a shirt over his head and opening the door at the same time, her hand is gripping through the barely open space and attempting to pull him out, fingers tugging as she marches toward the sofa.
He settles on the centre cushion, parts his knees and let's her get comfortable on her bottom between them, handing her brush over her shoulder while he fiddles with the remote, scrolls down the list to find the programme and then presses 'play' before he gives himself enough time to 'accidentally' delete it. The current show freezes, flashes and then the pre-interview starts. Between tugging Olivia's brush though her hair, pulling each strand until it's knot-free and smooth, Merlin catches glances of Arthur and his soon-to-be bride, Sophia. The voice in the background details their history - how they met in France and tip-toed around their feelings for one another for almost a year before Arthur finally asked her on a date, flew her to Brazil for their first anniversary and now, nearly three years later, they're finally announcing their engagement. The voice guiding the show reminders viewers that Arthur and Sophia's courting period was filled with endless beautiful trips around the world and countless summer nights under star-bright skies in the countryside. Great Britain would only prove to prosper under his and Sophia's love - love just as true and passionate as the kind King Uther and Queen Ygraine shared before her untimely death.
Here Olivia sighs, head cocking to the side and unintentionally knocking Merlin's shocked-still hands loose from her locks. When he regains his thought, tells himself to quit watching the nonsense and just go about what he's doing because Arthur doesn't matter anymore, this - brushing Olivia's hair before bed, being close to her when she's still small enough to want to be close to him - is what matters, he pulls Olivia's hair up, wraps it tight in an elastic and then brushes it out, tightening the ponytail so that it'll make it through the night. "Daddy, everyone at school says Prince Arthur is cute. Do you think Prince Arthur is cute?"
"Prince Arthur is an adult, little girls shouldn't think he's 'cute' or otherwise," Merlin mumbles in response, shifting over when Olivia rises from the floor and presses herself onto the sofa, half in Merlin's lap and half on the cushion. He avoids the question, though. Arthur doesn't look 'cute', but he is just as striking as Merlin remembers him that day at the children's hospital. His face is more stern now, his eyes aren't quite as bright and he stands solidly, a sharpness in his walk that never existed before. He's royalty now, not just the boy Merlin teased when he was twelve or the teenager who, in a fit of jealousy, kissed Merlin in the middle of the corridor in Clarence House, not caring at all that anyone could catch them.
Merlin wonders if him leaving has anything to do with it - with the layers of thick skin Arthur has grown over the years and the loss of softness around his eyes and his lips, where wide, uninhibited smiles used to start.
Olivia squeals when Arthur and Sophia come to the screen, fake smiles plastered on their faces and backs straight, eyes focused on the pale blonde woman in the chair across from them who asks them to start off with the engagement - when, where and how? Merlin tunes that out, though. He doesn't care - not really. He strokes his fingers through Olivia's hair, twists and wraps it until she sighs and leans her head against his shoulder, mumbling about how maybe she'll marry a prince someday and have a dress like Sophia's.
It takes all of Merlin's power to say no daughter of his will ever be part of that world. He made sure of it.
"Do you remember Prince Arthur? Nana says you do."
"If Nana says I do, why are you asking?"
She shrugs, her shoulder bumping Merlin's arm. "You don't act like you do."
Sophia's dark hair is loose over her shoulders, it sways when she leans toward Arthur and smiles, saying something like: "Of course. Arthur is my first love; he's everything to me."
Ugh.
"That's romantic," announces Olivia, as though she can feel the annoyance rolling off him in waves. Was there nothing less cliché she could have said? Christ.
But then the interviewer looks at Arthur. She says, "Well, Prince Arthur? Is Sophia your first love?" and Merlin's chest gets tight. His mind goes blank with the first flash of true emotion that presents itself on Arthur's face - hurt.
"Well," starts Arthur, slowly and kindly with a bright smile that may just be enough to fool the world but isn't nearly enough to fool Merlin, "I don't think my feelings for Sophia can be explained in such a short word but, I can say that it's not always about loving someone; the most important thing to try and find is someone who can feel something for you in return and this is the first time I've found that."
Oh. That hurts.
Arthur tilts his head toward Sophia, gives her a winning smile and adds, "We look forward to spending our life together."
Then the woman interviewing asks about children, a little boy or girl with Arthur's colouring in the future and Merlin turns it off, presses the power button and ignores Olivia's indignant squawk by tugging her forward off the sofa, telling her that her fifteen minutes have long been up and she needs to rest if she wants to get anything accomplished tomorrow.
It's Merlin who doesn't sleep.
*
It's stupid - so, so stupid - but he writes letters to Arthur occasionally. When Olivia teethes and keeps him up all night, Merlin writes about how hard it is even with his mum's help and when Merlin graduates University and gets offered a job with a charity, he writes another letter about the flat he bought on his own and how he stayed up well past two in the morning the day he was supposed to start because he wanted Olivia's room to be perfect before she moved in. Then he writes a letter on her first day of school about how hard it was to let her go and all the crazy ideas she came home with. Between those letters are ones from days Merlin passes Arthur's face on the cover of magazines and Merlin writes how amazing it is to see Olivia in each and every one of them, even if he is the only one who really notices.
He's writing one of Monday evening when his mum comes to visit. He's on the line about how ridiculous it is that someone mentioned a child who looked like him and Merlin was the only person in the entire would who thought, 'there already is one' and then felt a ridiculous surge of jealousy at the idea that there will be another one day, one he shares with Sophia. Merlin admits that he's petty, though; he was there first so he wins, obviously, and what he wants for Olivia isn't anything close to what Arthur is able to offer and he mentions that at the end of every letter, as a reminder to himself more than anything that his decision was the right one, that even if Arthur knew and understood, there wouldn't be able to be anything for Olivia anyway.
"Why write them if you'll never send them?"
"Write what?" Olivia asks, bouncing around the corner to wrap her arms around her Nana's waist. "What is daddy writing about?"
There goes that 'daddy', again. Always so nosey - spy-like, one might say. Merlin actually smiles at that, though. It's nice when the more adorable sides of Arthur shine in her, rather than just the annoying ones.
"Nothing," he and his mum answer in unison, pushing Olivia off to the living room when she pouts and asks again.
"I have an invitation, you know? We could go; you could -"
"We weren't friends, mum. We weren't anything."
"You were something," she argues plainly. There is no push in her voice, no attempt to convince him. They've debated this more than once - loudly, angrily - and it's come to an impasse.
'Which means,' he thinks, 'it's meant to be left alone.'
Olivia laughs at something in the next room and his mum turns to watch her through the archway. Merlin, from his spot at the table, can see the peeking blonde head over the edge of the sofa and way Olivia wiggles when she finds something funny, a habit she just can't control.
"It's a shame he'll never experience this." Quiet Monday evenings, Olivia finally dressed in her pyjamas without argument and dishes put away, the street below buzzing quietly with life and the sky fading to a dark, welcome shade of grey.
"No," Merlin replies, turning back to his letter. "It would be a shame if she was expected to live the way he did. She deserves better -"
"You were envious of that life once."
"I was envious of how much more you gave to him than me." Merlin doesn't look up when she goes still. He doesn't have it in him to look at her now. "You never told me you knew Arthur's mother or about how you'd wanted to live in Cornwall," he says, remembering the boiling frustration that had pooled in his chest that day in Cornwall, that had led to him finding the knot and learning about 'guaranteed conception' and - Christ, they really hadn't been lying, had they? "The Pendragons, they ruined that for you; they made it so you couldn't leave and you doted on him regardless, gave him anything he could have ever asked for."
"They did me a favour, Merlin."
"A favour? How was any of that a 'favour'?"
"I named you for Arthur," she says suddenly, cutting Merlin off before he can ask what that has to do with anything. "Ygraine was a dear friend and she worried he'd only ever been seen as a prince but I knew when I had you that you'd challenge him, that you were meant to be something amazing together."
"I don't care, mum."
"Apparently you do if you're so upset that I told Arthur a little something about the mother he never met." He feels small when she looks at him like that, stern-faced and tense. "Ygraine arranged for my job with the Pendragons; she ensured I was taken care of while I worked there, even after her death. Do you think most employers let single mothers bring their children along to work? Did anyone else have that option, Merlin?"
Merlin feels hot around the collar, like he's suffocating under all her feelings - the stress in her voice, her sudden need to get it all out and the slightly crazed way she reaches for his hand, pushes the pen away from his fingers and holds tight to his fingers, squeezing them until they hurt within her own.
"If not for yourself or Arthur, Merlin, think of her." Her voice is low, too quiet for Olivia to hear but he looks into the living room anyway to make sure she's not listening. "You both know what it's like to grow up wondering -"
"That's your fault." Even though she nods in agreement, he feels awful for saying it. His mum has never done wrong by him - has pushed and pushed and up and left her entire life behind to follow him when he found himself in a position he couldn't explain. She came with him to university to help raise his daughter, held him when he said he couldn't do it and promised him he could, that she'd show him how. She'd made him the man he was, one who succeeded in every endeavour but love and... Well, she deserves better than his interruptions, true or otherwise.
Merlin remembers Arthur in Cornwall, when he'd lain on his side and murmured, "It's like a piece of me is missing and I can't... I'll never find it, you know? Because it's not around to be found" and, at the time he'd told Arthur he sounded like a girl but Merlin had understood more than anyone - the questions, the doubt, the endless feeling of being incomplete.
He wants Olivia to feel complete; to be able to ask questions without being told 'never mind' or 'it doesn't matter' because it does matter. Arthur matters. Olivia's feelings matter. As much as Merlin wishes that none of it did, that it could be swept under the rug and left there, hidden in the darkness with all of his other terrible secrets - his feelings for Arthur, still humming lightly in his chest and his fears for Olivia's future, what might happen if, for some strange reason, someone were to discover the truth - there is no way at all he can deny what Arthur is to Olivia, no way he can pretend he doesn't care forever.
He'd like to not care. He doesn't want to care.
"I talked to him."
Well there goes that bout of affection he was feeling for her... "You talked to who?"
"To Arthur," his mum confirms.
"What?"
"He was your friend, Merlin." She runs her fingers through his hair, unruffled when he steps away. "He wanted to make things right." Merlin can't hide his annoyed scoff but she pushes on, adds, so quietly he almost misses it: "He thought she was beautiful."
"You told him?" Merlin might be yelling; he's pretty sure he is because Olivia rises on the sofa cushions, peers over the edge and says 'okay, dad?' before his mum has a chance to properly shush him, push him further into the kitchen in out of sight while she answers, firmly, "No, of course I didn't tell him."
She's not making any sense. Her voice is low, quiet enough that Olivia doesn't hear but she talks about how Arthur showed up on the stoop not long after Olivia was born, how Merlin was out and it wasn't as though she'd expected to find him standing there when she opened the door. Things had still been struggling to fall into place, Merlin had just started writing letters he planned to never send and Arthur had shown up with one, the very first Merlin ever wrote. There was no stamp, no sign of ever being sent in the post but it was there, re-folded so many times that each time he waved it at her it looked as though it was close to tearing.
Merlin hasn't seen her so unsure before; his mum has always been great at hiding her less-pleasant emotions in front of him but this - her face, grim and uncertain - looks as though, for the first time, she's the one needing him to understand, make sense of it all as she speaks.
"It's like," she starts, pausing and looking away to consider her words, "it was magic."
And, in any other family, he'd laugh or roll his eyes but, all things considered...
The box under his bed looks untouched; there's a bit of dust on the lid from lack of use but, sure enough, the first letter he ever wrote is missing. The others are still there, hidden between the flimsy cardboard he trusted to keep his secrets, folded in order of how he wrote them but the very first - the one he wrote about how happy he was to be able to take off his hoodies now and how, in a bout of frustration, he didn't think he'd ever be willing to forgive Arthur for being who he was, for being in a position where he had no choice but to choose.
His mum's shadow is dark across the floor of his bedroom, long and terrifying and he stares at the motion of her hand when it rises to brush the fringe out of his eyes. "He didn't stay," she reminds him, "But I think he would have, if you'd asked."
If she's still trying to convince him to change his mind, to go to the wedding, she's not succeeding. He feels less certain, less secure, now than he ever has. There's always been a blanket of comfort that came with knowing that Arthur didn't know and now, she's tugged the comfort away, left him open and vulnerable and he dreads, absolutely dreads, the day it will all come back to get him.
Because it will. It always does.
*
Two weeks later he walks into work worried about one thing: coffee. He needs coffee. So much fucking coffee.
"Long night?" Freya's face is soft, concerned. She's the best assistant he could ever ask for and the little tidbit about her having occasionally uncontrollable magic doesn't hurt. She's a good friend - dependable, true. Probably the best he has beside Gwaine who, strangely enough, makes it a point every time they speak to bring a copy of the latest rag with Arthur's face splashed across it and mention, oh so casually, that he knows a little girl who looks strangely familiar...
Merlin shakes his head, knowing that if he nods Freya will assume his wily daughter kept him up late giving him a run for his money again. For once she offered him no cheek about going to bed at a decent time and dressed herself without complication, going so far as to brush her teeth without having to be told and his mum left soon after, not even bothering to apologise for her blatant abuse of his trust.
Today will be shit; that's how it always works. "I'm fine; I just need coffee."
"Coffee I can do," Freya answers. Merlin sighs as the door clicks behind her, computer beeping with every new e-mail as they organise themselves across the screen. It's still a little too early to function and, frankly, half of the office won't be there until closer to nine so he takes his time clicking through them all, reading about new research programs that need funding and organization ideas that have no way to start.
He decides to hide his face in his hands and wait for the coffee instead. He's not sure he can take actually working just yet; his brain can only handle so much.
Thankfully the door is sliding open again soon enough, slipping shut right after and Merlin knows he should stop ignoring his magic when it starts to buzz under his skin but, dammit, he's so tired. "Perfect timing," he mumbles, head still hidden in his hands. "Have I told you how absolutely perfect you are today?"
"I don't think you've ever told me how absolutely perfect I am," says a voice that is decidedly not Freya's. There's still the familiar sound of a coffee cup sliding across his desk, though, pressed close enough for him to blindly grope for.
"I would hate to inflate your ego," Merlin mumbles around the bile in his mouth. There's no way to describe the sudden rush of panic in his veins, the flood of magic that surges and pulses in his chest in response to Arthur's quiet laugh, only half-familiar with the hint of royalty added to make it sound polite, not unhindered.
Arthur's trained, now. He's no longer a boy hidden in a prince's clothing.
"You have to quit cornering me at work."
Arthur doesn't bother to reply. He settles in the chair across from Merlin's desk like he belongs there, each strand of blonde hair neat and his suit pressed, clean cut and fitted in all the right places. There's no longer that constant hint of a smile around his mouth like there'd been when Merlin was visiting every day, learning who Arthur was and nudging shoulders during late-night Call of Duty matches. He says, "I got your letter" and Merlin finally realises that he can't feel anything - there's no fear, no anxious terror. He's not scared or nervous or angry he's... empty, stuck between feeling so many things that he's not feeling at all. All he can think to say is: "You weren't supposed to."
"Your mum told me as much. But... I wanted to see for myself; she looked a lot like you."
"My mum?"
"Olivia."
Oh. "Not really, actually. The hair, the eyes, the nose, the ears - thank Christ - are most certainly not mine."
Merlin doesn't realise that he's fallen into a trap until after Arthur says, "I find that hard to believe." Without thinking, he's reaching for the frames at the corner of his desk, spinning them each one at a time away from him and toward Arthur. He remembers, after Arthur's face has gone soft and his eyes are so focused, so seemingly determined to remember it all that he doesn't even take notice when Merlin says, "Christ, this is ridiculous" because Olivia plays him the same way, makes her innocent-sounding statement into a way to make him give her something she hasn't even claimed to want yet.
"You're not angry."
Arthur looks up, gaze firm and, as if he's practised for this meeting forever, says, "I've had a lot of time to get used to it all of it... The idea, at least. I was angry at first, though. If you'd been there that day, I'm not so sure I would have been able to not pummel your skinny arse."
Merlin shrugs. "Your position doesn't give you much room to be your gay, magical not-boyfriend's baby's father" and then, a silent, awkward moment later, he decides to make it worse by adding, "Congratulations on your engagement." He tugs the frames back into their proper spot, purposely not watching Arthur as he does.
Arthur is still, tone formal as he says, "Thank you" and reserved when he adds, "It should have been different but, we all work with what we have, yeah?"
If that isn't the truth, Merlin isn't sure what is. "Right."
Merlin thinks he should probably be angrier. Or nervous, he should definitely be nervous but Arthur is... Well, he's not pushing for once. Maybe it's come with age or with stability or with Sophia, who knows?, but Merlin's finding it hard to look up and be bitter with Arthur for proving to be all the things Merlin assumed he'd become - stiff, perfect and living his life as dictated by his father.
Even before Olivia, Merlin accepted the fact that Arthur could never be his. He's had years to stop caring - to give in, accept the inevitable.
It doesn't mean that he's succeeded, mind you. But he's certainly tried.
"Is there a reason you came?"
"Because I'm a masochist, obviously," Arthur replies slowly. In a display of normalcy, he even shrugs. "I wanted to know what I was giving up."
"You can't give up something you never had."
"I had you once." Merlin doesn't dwell much on that; he's too busy watching Arthur rise, straighten his jacket and tug his tie. He should probably ask Arthur to stay, give him a reason to because his magic is telling him to, vibrating and wanting. "If I said," Arthur starts when he reaches the door, back to Merlin, "that I wanted to make it better, do you think I could?"
Merlin doesn't even think about his answer. He remembers the night in Arthur's room, when he was angry and hurt and couldn't figure out why Arthur didn't understand. He says, "I'm still not willing to be your secret."
Arthur doesn't respond as he leaves.
*
It takes Olivia all of two minutes to fall in love with him; a week to stop babbling endlessly about how Prince Arthur took her shopping and how Prince Arthur invited her to London and how Prince Arthur says she's the prettiest girl he's ever seen and a less than a month for her to pull away while Merlin is brushing her hair one night and say, "Do you think I look like Queen Ygraine? Prince Arthur says I do" because Arthur promises not to keep her a secret when he comes over two days after ambushing Merlin at work with all of his regrets and not-feelings and, true to his word, he isn't too ashamed to let the world see her. He doesn't tell them they're right when they print bold titles that say: PRINCE'S SECRET LOVECHILD REVEALED, but he doesn't deny her either and that's enough for Merlin and Olivia both.
He isn't really sure when he starts to get comfortable with the idea of having Arthur in his kitchen, though; he thinks it's the third weekend Arthur shows up at his door with a bag of takeaway and, for once, makes the security staff wait outside. Olivia is running errands with Merlin's mum and they're alone, Merlin's back pressed against the worktop and Arthur's fingers tapping irregularly at the worn oak table. "Sophia and I cancelled the wedding; we're going to wait a week or so before we tell the press but I thought you should know."
Merlin should probably say 'what?' or 'why?' because he's thinking both but he... Well, he thinks he knows why but he doesn't want Arthur to tell him. He doesn't want to hear it aloud; he might not be able to stop himself from wishing again if he does.
It took too long to get used to the idea of Arthur being normal, even longer to get used to the idea of actually caring about him and years to accept the fact that Arthur wasn't quite as permanent as he'd originally thought.
Arthur shrugs, offers Merlin an uncertain glance as he stills his fingers. "I can't be out and proud; the world isn't ready and there's no way to explain Olivia, either, but I want to be here."
"I waited a long time for you to see me as someone worth your time," Arthur continues. He pauses, laughs quietly. When he does, it's the laugh Merlin remembers from those days hidden away in Arthur's room, when they lived in their own world away from reality, where it was okay to be messy and to love a boy because there was no one to see but one another.
And, Merlin thinks that if the world worked like that, it'd probably be a happier place but it's not something he has time to dwell on because Arthur isn't getting married and he wants to stay and Merlin isn't sure how he's meant to respond to that. Be okay with it? Say 'no'?
In the end, after Arthur says, "it's your choice, of course" and "fuck, Merlin, I was wrong but you were too and I'm angry but I'm trying my fucking best to look past it" Merlin shoves himself away from the worktop and says, "Tea? I think we're going to need some" because he remembers what his mother said about wondering and what Arthur said about never being complete because half of him was missing and... He's going to try this. He's going to give a little and maybe, just maybe, this time, it'll work.
*
Life is a difficult thing and it doesn't work quite the way Merlin expects. First, he falls in love with the boy he swore he'd always hate and then, before he's out of Uni or has time to see if he can even manage to keep a fish alive, he has a baby who grows up to be a constant reminder of the same person he couldn't be with. He doesn't get to flat hunt in fall because the paparazzi won't let him but he does get long mornings in bed listening to Arthur's heartbeat while Olivia sighs in her sleep, snuggles closer on Arthur's other side and gropes sleepily for Merlin's hand, settled when he brings his fingers to meet hers over Arthur's chest before they move to Clarence House and those days become fewer and farther between because Olivia gets older and it's not much fun to cuddle any more (no matter how many times Merlin tells her there's no age limit). He and Arthur don't argue over who walks the dog when it rains because they don't have one and, even if they did, there's probably a Royal Dog Escort wandering around somewhere in Clarence House waiting for them to get one.
It's not as easy as it seems in the romantic comedies Merlin is fond of but it's not just difficult because of the press and the situation and the fact that Arthur doesn't ever shout his love from the rooftops; it's difficult because they never really stop growing up, changing and becoming new, different people with every passing day. Merlin's mum says one week while Arthur's gone, visiting some foreign country to hug starving children and give them hope, that surviving change is what makes a relationship strong and Merlin pushes his mug away, reminding her again that what they have isn't really a relationship because they're not allowed to - they're just not.
And they're not allowed to be a couple, a real couple, for awhile. Olivia is nearly fourteen, brimming with secrets that make having friends difficult and the world is set in a state of constant curiosity before Arthur smiles in the middle of a televised interview and says, "Sophia has found someone who makes her very happy and she was, ultimately, very happy that Merlin and I found one another" and that's all it takes for the world to realise that, yes, Prince Arthur of Wales loves a man and, yes, that man is Merlin.
The interview makes life both easier and harder in turns. Olivia has always known, in her own way, that things would never be normal for her or her family - Merlin's magic and Arthur's position would never allow it - but she reminds them regularly that she loves how there's always something about them that she'll never have to share with the world, that she doesn't mind the story they've made up about her birth to keep the press off the impossible truth and, though Merlin always wanted better for her, he thinks maybe this was always what was best.
He watches Arthur kick the football to her on the lawn of Clarence House when she's twenty and so gorgeous that sometimes he can't believe that she's his and Arthur's and that, for once (or maybe it's been working towards this forever, who knows?) his magic did something right.
Arthur's room is dark when he slips in. The telly is on mute and the lights are all off, the screen illuminating the floor just enough for Merlin to find his way to the bed without slamming his toe into the corner. Arthur, reading something on the screen of his mobile, smiles briefly over the edge before going back to what he was doing.
It's not quite the welcome Merlin expected. What he hoped for was an anxious press of lips, Arthur eager to touch him and maybe some sort of verbal acknowledgement of being missed but he accepts the smile as he settles at the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes before crawling over the covers to where Arthur is sitting, back against the headboard.
"How was it?"
Arthur shrugs. He taps something into his mobile and then sends it, going right back to it when it beeps a moment later. "It was alright," he answers, not bothering to look up. "More than I expected."
"Nice."
"Yeah."
Merlin waits - for something, anything - but Arthur doesn't look away from his phone, the tiny chime of letters being pressed and the beep it makes when it receives a response. He says, "Sooo" and then, when Arthur doesn't speak, he adds, "did I come over just to watch you text?"
This time Arthur looks up, eyes stern and mouth set in a solid line. "Merlin, can you just wait a minute?"
"I've been waiting."
"Then keep waiting. Christ."
"I didn't come over here to waste my time," Merlin argues, leaning forward to tug Arthur's mobile away. He's surprised when Arthur grips his wrist, stops it before he manages to get hold of his mobile. "Let go."
"What is it with you and being so impatient? I'm trying to figure something out and you're -"
"Waiting to be acknowledged? I mean, fuck, you asked me to come over. I set aside my entire day for -"
"Well get used to it, Merlin, the entire world doesn't revolve around you. I have things I'm responsible for and they have to come first."
So this is the Arthur Merlin always assumed existed, the one he struggled to avoid and hated purely on principle. This is Prince Arthur, not the little boy who once peeked around corners or who hid his hand between their legs to offer Merlin a bit of comfort on the ride of Cornwall. Long gone is the bloke Merlin said he'd miss during the trip and who'd told Merlin he wouldn't have an opportunity to miss him, he'd text him every minute of the day.
"What happened?"
Arthur sighs, brushes his fringe away from his eyes with the hand that isn't clutching his mobile like a lifeline. "My father and I spent the day discussing potential wives."
"You're upset because your father is getting remarried?"
Merlin feels slightly stupid when Arthur looks up, says, "No, Merlin; my father isn't getting remarried" because it clicks then and all Merlin can say is, "oh."
There is silence after that. Occasionally Arthur's mobile beeps but he doesn't answer it; it sits cradled in his hands but he doesn't look away from Merlin's face, from the way Merlin's biting at his bottom lip and can't seem to focus on just one thing. He feels this irrational urge to tell himself, "I told you so" because... Well, he told himself so. He knew from the very beginning, told Arthur himself, that this was sex - it was fucking, not dating - and they weren't friends. They each had two separate lives to lead, two different paths to follow and Arthur had more than himself to think about.
Merlin had nothing but himself to think about and he'd still lost track of that, allowed himself to feel things for Arthur when he knew that it was silly, stupid - wrong.
"I'm working something out, I think. I can't come out and tell her I'm gay just yet but a girl I met on the trip was one of my father's suggestions and -"
"And you want to use her to cover up the fact that you’re gay?"
Arthur nods. He gestures at Merlin with one of his hands, eyes stony and lips down-turned. "How do I explain you to the world?"
"You can't."
"Exactly, which is why -"
"But I don't want to be someone's secret, either," Merlin interrupts, finally focusing on Arthur's face. He watches the storm of emotion - the anger, the understanding, the resentment and then, finally, the betrayal. But it's not fair that Arthur is the one who feels like Merlin is in the wrong - anyone who genuinely cared wouldn't expect someone to live their life in secret, would they? Merlin doesn't think he could ever look someone in the eye and say, 'I love you but no one can know', 'I'm going share a bed with someone else but I'll come around to visit, I swear', 'We're having a baby but you can help pick the name, okay?'
Aloud, Merlin says, "I have a life to live too, Arthur. There is more than just your reputation involved in this scenario." If he sounds a little angry, that's probably because he is. He is angry. Mostly it's at himself but... But he's having a hard time remembering what he's even angry about at the moment, he just knows that he is and that it hurts and that he's already tired of it.
"Merlin, if I really cared about my reputation I wouldn't have introduced you to my friends -" Merlin remembers them; they were nice people, better than the ones Arthur used to spend time with. Hell, they were even slightly normal. So why... "- and let them see that I regularly spend time with someone who can't even wear a shirt that hasn't been washed so many times that the colour is practically gone? I've never seen a dirtier pair of trainers in my life than yours and -"
"Go on, tell me how you really feel, then!"
"- and you don't even have any real plans for yourself. You want to spend your life doing charity work. How is that meant to pay the bills, Merlin? How is anyone meant to survive that way?"
Merlin can't hold back his laugh. "What would you know about bills and survival?"
That's the key, though; their differences are what define them, not their similarities. All the days Merlin spent pretending otherwise make him feel like a fool. It makes him feel sick - not the slightly nauseous feeling he's been getting when he rolls out of bed too fast to make it to work on time or to dress before the maids come in for Arthur's sheets but the slow, all-consuming feeling of sickness that makes his knees feel like jelly and his stomach clench, leaves his legs shaky and his fingers trembling.
For a moment he feels so much that he can't describe a single thing. It's all a mess of want-hate-need that he's torn between forcing himself to stay, to take what's being offered and try to make it work and just getting out while there's still hope for not becoming so attached that he'll never be able to let the memories of his summer go.
He thinks he might already have problem enough trying to forget them as-is, much less after two years of holding on to them while he and Arthur fall apart.
Arthur has the nerve to look mad. He doesn't look disappointed when Merlin says, "Whatever, Your Highness" and "This was going to happen anyway"; he doesn't look like he's reconsidering a single thing he said when Merlin stands, lifting his leg and reaching back to pull the edge of his trainer over the back of his foot as he struggles to make it to the door as fast as he can manage without seeming desperate.
Because he's not desperate; he doesn't give a fuck what Arthur has to say.
Really.
Except that he kind of does. He gives a fuck. He cares so much that he thinks about it the entire way home, so much that he stops and buys himself a new pair of trainers - clean, white Adidas that cost him more than he's ever paid for trainers and then pushes a bottle of the shoe cleaner at the sales woman before he checks out just to make sure they stay that way, to save himself from ever having to listen to someone talk about how dirty his trainers are ever again.
And if someone does, now he can say 'I've heard worse from better' because... Well, he heard pretty bad from the fucking Prince of Wales, yeah? Not many rank higher than that... and that's the problem.
*
"Alright?"
He probably looks pretty ridiculous. He's wrestling his clothes into his bag and half of his boxes are bumping into one another, hopping across his barren room. The tape ran away hours ago, his comb has been raking through his hair for twenty minutes without pause and he's pretty sure that even if he does manage to get what is left of his clothes packed, half of the stuff he packed before will be out and in need of being repacked. "Perfect," he answers as he struggles to get the zip of his duffel to shut; he curses quietly when it catches the fleshy tip of his finger. "Obviously."
His mum says, "Yes, clearly" as she steps forward. She kicks one of Merlin's worn t-shirts out of the way and he doesn't jump to collect it; staring at it - colour faded, edges torn, stitches frayed - reminds him of his argument with Arthur though and maybe his mum is a mind-reader (or just has bloody awful timing) because she says, "Arthur asked about you today; he seemed pretty disappointed when I told him you were leaving tomorrow."
Not talking with his mum about this. Nope. Not happening.
"He says he texted you..."
Right on cue, Merlin's mobile vibrates in his pocket. It's the short, two second buzz of a reminder rather than a new text and Merlin knows are from Arthur. He's only peeked at them, caught a glimpses when he's tried to clear his notifications. He hasn't gone far enough to delete them though. That would mean tapping the list and he doesn't think he'd be able to stop himself if he started... "I've been busy."
His mum doesn't argue. She can't. He's kept himself busy enough to be out when she's home, to avoid conversations like these.
"It's fine," he tries. "I'll text him when I get there."
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened." After a moment he adds, "Seriously" to sound a bit more convincing; she's looking at him like he's lying and, though he may be, she doesn't need to know that.
She doesn't need to know anything about it because it's over - done. Merlin is letting it go and maybe he's not losing his feelings for Arthur quite as fast as he gained them but he's making a fucking effort and he will succeed.
He's not toting around memories about being Prince Arthur's experiment for the rest of his life. He's better than that.
*
He's better than that until Christmas break when, weary and hidden under layers of clothing, Merlin arrives in Cornwall two days before his mum. Thankfully it gives Gaius just enough time to walk in on Merlin tugging off his shirt and raise a brow -- the one that means 'what have you done now?' -- because Merlin's always been on the lean side, bordering on lanky through more of his teenage years but now his stomach is outstretched, round and bordering on unnatural. Originally he chalked up his stomach issues -- the inability to hold anything down, the constant nausea -- to stress from being somewhere new, from the need to succeed and from the sudden separation from Arthur which, unexpectedly, fucking hurt. Then, when the nausea lessened and the roundness in his centre started, he blamed it on his insatiable desire for food. There was never enough, never anything sweet enough or sour enough or just right and he hadn't been so desperate food snacks at all hours since puberty when he's grown and grown and never felt full.
Gaius says otherwise. He says it's not food, it's destiny and Merlin rolls his eyes, gets ready to tell Gaius a few stones (which, okay, it's more than a few and he'll never be comfortable shirtless in front of someone again if it stays like this because... Well, it looks like a bump and -- yeah, no) doesn't have anything to do with destiny when Gaius says, "Does Prince Arthur know?"
And then all hell breaks loose.
They argue for two solid days about magic and how it works and Merlin denies, over and over again, that he's - you know, up the duff, because blokes don't have babies and he's known he wasn't interested in the opposite sex for a long time which has given him ample opportunity to research adoption and get comfortable with the idea of loving someone who might not have his nose or his colouring. Of course, it doesn't help that while Gaius is tugging dusty, ancient books off of a shelf in the corner and murmuring, "I'll show you, boy," there's a flutter of movement under Merlin's skin, right under the hand he has subconsciously resting over his swollen midsection.
It's even worse when Merlin knows, right then, that Gaius isn't lying. He's not sure what convinces him it's the truth, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, but he does. He doesn't even have to really read the passage about previous situations like his - years and years ago when 'destiny' was always involved - to, with a deep sigh that shutters through his body, accept the fact that, yes, he is having a child and, yes, it half-belongs to the Prince of Wales.
They don't talk about Arthur, though. It's the first thing Merlin says after Gauis explains the situation over Christmas dinner. He says, slowly so they both understand, "It's mine - just mine" and stares at them long and hard, daring either of them to argue.
Thankfully, they don't. It's probably the shock but, still, he appreciates that, for once, they keep their thoughts to themselves.
He feels bad about his mum uprooting herself, though. They tour flats together near Uni and she sighs, deep and sad, through the gritty noise from his speaker when she tells him that she's put in her notice and should be able to arrive within the week; the King is writing her an excellent recommendation and she's welcome back any time.
They both know she won't be back; she'd have to choose between Arthur and Merlin and... Well, for once he doesn't feel like he's in second place. For the first time, as juvenile as it sounds, he feels like he's important.
Then he feels terrible for finding something positive in the mess he's managed to make. He's forced himself and his mum both into a situation very few ever experienced - that none have experienced openly - and it's hard, for both of them, to balance work with finding the time to understand what exactly is going on, how it works and to put together the pieces of how they're going to manage to keep Merlin in school and his mum at work between caring for an infant.
His mum says, late one night when Merlin's back hurts and he's finally free of his layers in their relative peace of their tiny flat, "We're going to make it work" while Merlin pages through the baby name book she bought him months ago. He's still undecided and, as frustrating as it is, he can't stop wondering what Arthur would think about each and every name he highlights. He tosses and turns when he finally manages to fall asleep about what Arthur would do if he found out, how they might make it work and how King Uther might just allow it because, against all odds, Merlin and Arthur managed to define history again, unintentionally creating life that neither expected was even a possibility to -
He usually wakes up then, the shadow of Arthur's smile fading with his sleepy state until he's forced to face the world again, dress in layers though it's already April and warming quickly and pretend he can focus in class around the rough kicks against his bladder and the feel of his child rolling, twisting and squirming until it settles.
He just wishes he could be less worried and a bit more excited. After all, he'd wanted a piece of Arthur for himself at one point, hadn't he? And his magic had given him just that, even if it had done it in a completely unorthodox manner.
*
She's born on the 26th of May ; the birthday of the solicitous adventurer and Merlin scowls at the great big book of birthdays in the book shop when he sees that his daughter is a born politician who is meant to inspire others with her charisma and persistence. She makes plenty of noise, that's for certain and she's persistent, no doubt - most especially when she's hungry or angry or restless.
He names her Olivia; he likes the relation to the olive branch, how it symbolises truce and starting over. It's not really a possibility now and Merlin thinks that, even if it was, he probably wouldn't go back to Arthur but... Well, he remembers when he stares down at her sleeping face in her cot that she's something bigger than herself, is more dear to him than she will ever understand and is, without a doubt, the very best thing Arthur will ever do.
And if Arthur never knows that, it's his own damn fault for not giving Merlin enough time to show him.
Of course, when Merlin says that one morning while he spoons mashed peas into Olivia's unhappy mouth, his mum kicks at the legs of his chair and replies, "You know just how to find him, Merlin; he asked for you, tried to make things right and you -"
"Refused to be his hidden lover; yes, I can see how that would upset you," Merlin interrupts, attempting to keep his voice calm and his smile wide as he wiggles the spoon against Olivia's lips and tries again.
"He had a duty, Merlin."
"As do I." He points at Olivia, peas smeared over her lips and her cheek, blue eyes wide and pale hair a mess over her crown. She waves hello, curling her fingers as she says, "nan" until Merlin's mum can't help but smile and say, "Yes, you most certainly do."
*
Merlin sees Arthur on the cover of the newspapers on his walks to work and when he gets stuck queuing at the grocers and his heart aches just a little every time but he moves on, takes the steps forward and focuses on school and then, when he's finally defied the odds and finished, his career. As Olivia grows, he's forced to listen to the endless stream of interviews and public gossip on the telly when he's at home watching her learn to talk and teaching her to read or, later when Olivia is in her first year of school and already struggling to prove just how independent all that time teaching her made her, while he's making dinner next to his mum or wrestling Olivia into her pyjamas, promising fifteen more minutes if she'll just give - him - her - arm.
Like tonight.
"Olivia, I had a long, long day at work," Merlin tries, shaking her pale pink sleep shirt in an attempt to force her to take it. He bites his tongue from announcing just how much she reminds him of her father when she rolls her eyes, cocks her head to the side and replies, snootily, "Daddy, I had a long day, too. But I'm not ready for bed."
Of course, how could he forget? Wake up at eight, spend half a day at school, come home to lunch and free-time; the life of a child with everything is so, so rough... There are technically no laws against using magic on your children. It wouldn't hurt her much if he just... stunned her into being still, would it? "Olivia, please."
"I don't want to wear that shirt. Purple is my favourite colour this week."
"Olivia, now."
She sighs, taps her little foot and it takes all of Merlin's control not to just grab her and force her into the damn shirt himself. He's a grown man with magic; he can take a shaking, squealing six-year-old and win.
Maybe.
He gives up, tosses her pyjamas over the back of the sofa. "You're so much like him," is what he mumbles when he walks away and then, a moment later when Olivia rushes to stand in front of him, discarded pink shirt clutched in her hand, he realises that was exactly what she wanted - a mention of 'him', another reminder.
Christ, when is he going to stop being such a sucker?
"Who, daddy?" she presses. "Who am I like?"
"Me," Merlin answers honestly. She blinks slowly, scowls slightly and is obviously displeased with his answer even though it's as true as they come. She is manipulative in a childish way, knows that since she came home and told him that he was going to be 'dad' from now on because she was too old to call anyone 'daddy', that she could throw out the title anytime she wanted something especially difficult and Merlin, more often than not, would give in - pleased, secretly, to be reminded of the fact that she was still his little girl. She's also obnoxiously persistent; some days when she won't let something go, Merlin remembers pestering his mum about boarding school, begging to stay home and asking why?, why?, why? at every turn.
When they said payback was a bitch, they weren't lying. If he'd know then what he does now, he wouldn't have asked half as many questions as a child.
Olivia holds her hand out, presses it against his stomach in a movement meant to halt him. Her blonde hair is a mess, ponytail loose and fringe scattered in awkward directions over her forehead but her eyes are stern, collected. "No."
"You'll have ears like mine soon, too," Merlin whispers, ruffling her hair. She groans, 'dad' pitifully and he smiles , tells her again to go get changed. When she looks like she's prepared to argue, he offers her another fifteen minutes if she hurries up and then she's gone, sprinting off to her bedroom and declaring claim of the telly until she has to go to bed.
In the kitchen, hands deep in the soapy sink water, his mum shakes her head at him. "You let her walk all over you." Then, to add insult to injury, adds: "Arthur didn't even have that much freedom and he was -"
"My parenting skills are shit, I get it. You don't have to throw him into the mix to get your point across."
She raises a brow, hands him a dish towel and a clean, dripping plate and puts him to work. For a few short minutes they work in silence. She washes, scrubs the remnants of dinner from the plates and cutlery and then passes them to Merlin, watches him dry them and put them away just like they did when he was younger, working for allowance rather than much needed silence.
"I recorded the interview for you," she mentions when the telly in the living room comes to life. He can hear Olivia fumbling with the remote, laughing every once in awhile and then moving on to the next programme. "She'll probably watch it with you."
"I'm not interested." The plates clink when he stacks them on top of one another. He's seen enough - the grainy pictures blown up to triple their size on the cover of magazines, the rumours in big, bold print and the video clips that always appear in some portion the nightly news without fail.
His mum, as though she didn't hear him, says, "It was a nice interview; you'll enjoy it. He's very well spoken, now - grown out of his shell since we last saw him."
Right on cue, Olivia yells, "Dad, Gran said you would watch the Prince's speech with me tonight!"
And then his mum is off, drying her hands and pressing a kiss to his cheek, telling him to enjoy his Saturday tomorrow and make sure that Olivia doesn't manage to get lost in the park again because 'you shouldn't let her walk around like she's some sort of princess, Merlin.' She's out of the door before Merlin can argue, tell her to piss off or ask what the hell she was thinking when she promised he would watch Arthur's bloody engagement interview with Olivia.
"Dad!"
"Let me get a shower," Merlin replies, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. He ruffles her hair as he passes, tells her to go grab her brush and they'll watch the interview when he's done. She doesn't leave much time for anything more than the 'shower' part, though. She's knocking on the bathroom door as soon as he shuts the water off, demanding he hurry up as though it's on live television and not saved, available at any point in time until he deletes it and then, as he's sliding a shirt over his head and opening the door at the same time, her hand is gripping through the barely open space and attempting to pull him out, fingers tugging as she marches toward the sofa.
He settles on the centre cushion, parts his knees and let's her get comfortable on her bottom between them, handing her brush over her shoulder while he fiddles with the remote, scrolls down the list to find the programme and then presses 'play' before he gives himself enough time to 'accidentally' delete it. The current show freezes, flashes and then the pre-interview starts. Between tugging Olivia's brush though her hair, pulling each strand until it's knot-free and smooth, Merlin catches glances of Arthur and his soon-to-be bride, Sophia. The voice in the background details their history - how they met in France and tip-toed around their feelings for one another for almost a year before Arthur finally asked her on a date, flew her to Brazil for their first anniversary and now, nearly three years later, they're finally announcing their engagement. The voice guiding the show reminders viewers that Arthur and Sophia's courting period was filled with endless beautiful trips around the world and countless summer nights under star-bright skies in the countryside. Great Britain would only prove to prosper under his and Sophia's love - love just as true and passionate as the kind King Uther and Queen Ygraine shared before her untimely death.
Here Olivia sighs, head cocking to the side and unintentionally knocking Merlin's shocked-still hands loose from her locks. When he regains his thought, tells himself to quit watching the nonsense and just go about what he's doing because Arthur doesn't matter anymore, this - brushing Olivia's hair before bed, being close to her when she's still small enough to want to be close to him - is what matters, he pulls Olivia's hair up, wraps it tight in an elastic and then brushes it out, tightening the ponytail so that it'll make it through the night. "Daddy, everyone at school says Prince Arthur is cute. Do you think Prince Arthur is cute?"
"Prince Arthur is an adult, little girls shouldn't think he's 'cute' or otherwise," Merlin mumbles in response, shifting over when Olivia rises from the floor and presses herself onto the sofa, half in Merlin's lap and half on the cushion. He avoids the question, though. Arthur doesn't look 'cute', but he is just as striking as Merlin remembers him that day at the children's hospital. His face is more stern now, his eyes aren't quite as bright and he stands solidly, a sharpness in his walk that never existed before. He's royalty now, not just the boy Merlin teased when he was twelve or the teenager who, in a fit of jealousy, kissed Merlin in the middle of the corridor in Clarence House, not caring at all that anyone could catch them.
Merlin wonders if him leaving has anything to do with it - with the layers of thick skin Arthur has grown over the years and the loss of softness around his eyes and his lips, where wide, uninhibited smiles used to start.
Olivia squeals when Arthur and Sophia come to the screen, fake smiles plastered on their faces and backs straight, eyes focused on the pale blonde woman in the chair across from them who asks them to start off with the engagement - when, where and how? Merlin tunes that out, though. He doesn't care - not really. He strokes his fingers through Olivia's hair, twists and wraps it until she sighs and leans her head against his shoulder, mumbling about how maybe she'll marry a prince someday and have a dress like Sophia's.
It takes all of Merlin's power to say no daughter of his will ever be part of that world. He made sure of it.
"Do you remember Prince Arthur? Nana says you do."
"If Nana says I do, why are you asking?"
She shrugs, her shoulder bumping Merlin's arm. "You don't act like you do."
Sophia's dark hair is loose over her shoulders, it sways when she leans toward Arthur and smiles, saying something like: "Of course. Arthur is my first love; he's everything to me."
Ugh.
"That's romantic," announces Olivia, as though she can feel the annoyance rolling off him in waves. Was there nothing less cliché she could have said? Christ.
But then the interviewer looks at Arthur. She says, "Well, Prince Arthur? Is Sophia your first love?" and Merlin's chest gets tight. His mind goes blank with the first flash of true emotion that presents itself on Arthur's face - hurt.
"Well," starts Arthur, slowly and kindly with a bright smile that may just be enough to fool the world but isn't nearly enough to fool Merlin, "I don't think my feelings for Sophia can be explained in such a short word but, I can say that it's not always about loving someone; the most important thing to try and find is someone who can feel something for you in return and this is the first time I've found that."
Oh. That hurts.
Arthur tilts his head toward Sophia, gives her a winning smile and adds, "We look forward to spending our life together."
Then the woman interviewing asks about children, a little boy or girl with Arthur's colouring in the future and Merlin turns it off, presses the power button and ignores Olivia's indignant squawk by tugging her forward off the sofa, telling her that her fifteen minutes have long been up and she needs to rest if she wants to get anything accomplished tomorrow.
It's Merlin who doesn't sleep.
*
It's stupid - so, so stupid - but he writes letters to Arthur occasionally. When Olivia teethes and keeps him up all night, Merlin writes about how hard it is even with his mum's help and when Merlin graduates University and gets offered a job with a charity, he writes another letter about the flat he bought on his own and how he stayed up well past two in the morning the day he was supposed to start because he wanted Olivia's room to be perfect before she moved in. Then he writes a letter on her first day of school about how hard it was to let her go and all the crazy ideas she came home with. Between those letters are ones from days Merlin passes Arthur's face on the cover of magazines and Merlin writes how amazing it is to see Olivia in each and every one of them, even if he is the only one who really notices.
He's writing one of Monday evening when his mum comes to visit. He's on the line about how ridiculous it is that someone mentioned a child who looked like him and Merlin was the only person in the entire would who thought, 'there already is one' and then felt a ridiculous surge of jealousy at the idea that there will be another one day, one he shares with Sophia. Merlin admits that he's petty, though; he was there first so he wins, obviously, and what he wants for Olivia isn't anything close to what Arthur is able to offer and he mentions that at the end of every letter, as a reminder to himself more than anything that his decision was the right one, that even if Arthur knew and understood, there wouldn't be able to be anything for Olivia anyway.
"Why write them if you'll never send them?"
"Write what?" Olivia asks, bouncing around the corner to wrap her arms around her Nana's waist. "What is daddy writing about?"
There goes that 'daddy', again. Always so nosey - spy-like, one might say. Merlin actually smiles at that, though. It's nice when the more adorable sides of Arthur shine in her, rather than just the annoying ones.
"Nothing," he and his mum answer in unison, pushing Olivia off to the living room when she pouts and asks again.
"I have an invitation, you know? We could go; you could -"
"We weren't friends, mum. We weren't anything."
"You were something," she argues plainly. There is no push in her voice, no attempt to convince him. They've debated this more than once - loudly, angrily - and it's come to an impasse.
'Which means,' he thinks, 'it's meant to be left alone.'
Olivia laughs at something in the next room and his mum turns to watch her through the archway. Merlin, from his spot at the table, can see the peeking blonde head over the edge of the sofa and way Olivia wiggles when she finds something funny, a habit she just can't control.
"It's a shame he'll never experience this." Quiet Monday evenings, Olivia finally dressed in her pyjamas without argument and dishes put away, the street below buzzing quietly with life and the sky fading to a dark, welcome shade of grey.
"No," Merlin replies, turning back to his letter. "It would be a shame if she was expected to live the way he did. She deserves better -"
"You were envious of that life once."
"I was envious of how much more you gave to him than me." Merlin doesn't look up when she goes still. He doesn't have it in him to look at her now. "You never told me you knew Arthur's mother or about how you'd wanted to live in Cornwall," he says, remembering the boiling frustration that had pooled in his chest that day in Cornwall, that had led to him finding the knot and learning about 'guaranteed conception' and - Christ, they really hadn't been lying, had they? "The Pendragons, they ruined that for you; they made it so you couldn't leave and you doted on him regardless, gave him anything he could have ever asked for."
"They did me a favour, Merlin."
"A favour? How was any of that a 'favour'?"
"I named you for Arthur," she says suddenly, cutting Merlin off before he can ask what that has to do with anything. "Ygraine was a dear friend and she worried he'd only ever been seen as a prince but I knew when I had you that you'd challenge him, that you were meant to be something amazing together."
"I don't care, mum."
"Apparently you do if you're so upset that I told Arthur a little something about the mother he never met." He feels small when she looks at him like that, stern-faced and tense. "Ygraine arranged for my job with the Pendragons; she ensured I was taken care of while I worked there, even after her death. Do you think most employers let single mothers bring their children along to work? Did anyone else have that option, Merlin?"
Merlin feels hot around the collar, like he's suffocating under all her feelings - the stress in her voice, her sudden need to get it all out and the slightly crazed way she reaches for his hand, pushes the pen away from his fingers and holds tight to his fingers, squeezing them until they hurt within her own.
"If not for yourself or Arthur, Merlin, think of her." Her voice is low, too quiet for Olivia to hear but he looks into the living room anyway to make sure she's not listening. "You both know what it's like to grow up wondering -"
"That's your fault." Even though she nods in agreement, he feels awful for saying it. His mum has never done wrong by him - has pushed and pushed and up and left her entire life behind to follow him when he found himself in a position he couldn't explain. She came with him to university to help raise his daughter, held him when he said he couldn't do it and promised him he could, that she'd show him how. She'd made him the man he was, one who succeeded in every endeavour but love and... Well, she deserves better than his interruptions, true or otherwise.
Merlin remembers Arthur in Cornwall, when he'd lain on his side and murmured, "It's like a piece of me is missing and I can't... I'll never find it, you know? Because it's not around to be found" and, at the time he'd told Arthur he sounded like a girl but Merlin had understood more than anyone - the questions, the doubt, the endless feeling of being incomplete.
He wants Olivia to feel complete; to be able to ask questions without being told 'never mind' or 'it doesn't matter' because it does matter. Arthur matters. Olivia's feelings matter. As much as Merlin wishes that none of it did, that it could be swept under the rug and left there, hidden in the darkness with all of his other terrible secrets - his feelings for Arthur, still humming lightly in his chest and his fears for Olivia's future, what might happen if, for some strange reason, someone were to discover the truth - there is no way at all he can deny what Arthur is to Olivia, no way he can pretend he doesn't care forever.
He'd like to not care. He doesn't want to care.
"I talked to him."
Well there goes that bout of affection he was feeling for her... "You talked to who?"
"To Arthur," his mum confirms.
"What?"
"He was your friend, Merlin." She runs her fingers through his hair, unruffled when he steps away. "He wanted to make things right." Merlin can't hide his annoyed scoff but she pushes on, adds, so quietly he almost misses it: "He thought she was beautiful."
"You told him?" Merlin might be yelling; he's pretty sure he is because Olivia rises on the sofa cushions, peers over the edge and says 'okay, dad?' before his mum has a chance to properly shush him, push him further into the kitchen in out of sight while she answers, firmly, "No, of course I didn't tell him."
She's not making any sense. Her voice is low, quiet enough that Olivia doesn't hear but she talks about how Arthur showed up on the stoop not long after Olivia was born, how Merlin was out and it wasn't as though she'd expected to find him standing there when she opened the door. Things had still been struggling to fall into place, Merlin had just started writing letters he planned to never send and Arthur had shown up with one, the very first Merlin ever wrote. There was no stamp, no sign of ever being sent in the post but it was there, re-folded so many times that each time he waved it at her it looked as though it was close to tearing.
Merlin hasn't seen her so unsure before; his mum has always been great at hiding her less-pleasant emotions in front of him but this - her face, grim and uncertain - looks as though, for the first time, she's the one needing him to understand, make sense of it all as she speaks.
"It's like," she starts, pausing and looking away to consider her words, "it was magic."
And, in any other family, he'd laugh or roll his eyes but, all things considered...
The box under his bed looks untouched; there's a bit of dust on the lid from lack of use but, sure enough, the first letter he ever wrote is missing. The others are still there, hidden between the flimsy cardboard he trusted to keep his secrets, folded in order of how he wrote them but the very first - the one he wrote about how happy he was to be able to take off his hoodies now and how, in a bout of frustration, he didn't think he'd ever be willing to forgive Arthur for being who he was, for being in a position where he had no choice but to choose.
His mum's shadow is dark across the floor of his bedroom, long and terrifying and he stares at the motion of her hand when it rises to brush the fringe out of his eyes. "He didn't stay," she reminds him, "But I think he would have, if you'd asked."
If she's still trying to convince him to change his mind, to go to the wedding, she's not succeeding. He feels less certain, less secure, now than he ever has. There's always been a blanket of comfort that came with knowing that Arthur didn't know and now, she's tugged the comfort away, left him open and vulnerable and he dreads, absolutely dreads, the day it will all come back to get him.
Because it will. It always does.
*
Two weeks later he walks into work worried about one thing: coffee. He needs coffee. So much fucking coffee.
"Long night?" Freya's face is soft, concerned. She's the best assistant he could ever ask for and the little tidbit about her having occasionally uncontrollable magic doesn't hurt. She's a good friend - dependable, true. Probably the best he has beside Gwaine who, strangely enough, makes it a point every time they speak to bring a copy of the latest rag with Arthur's face splashed across it and mention, oh so casually, that he knows a little girl who looks strangely familiar...
Merlin shakes his head, knowing that if he nods Freya will assume his wily daughter kept him up late giving him a run for his money again. For once she offered him no cheek about going to bed at a decent time and dressed herself without complication, going so far as to brush her teeth without having to be told and his mum left soon after, not even bothering to apologise for her blatant abuse of his trust.
Today will be shit; that's how it always works. "I'm fine; I just need coffee."
"Coffee I can do," Freya answers. Merlin sighs as the door clicks behind her, computer beeping with every new e-mail as they organise themselves across the screen. It's still a little too early to function and, frankly, half of the office won't be there until closer to nine so he takes his time clicking through them all, reading about new research programs that need funding and organization ideas that have no way to start.
He decides to hide his face in his hands and wait for the coffee instead. He's not sure he can take actually working just yet; his brain can only handle so much.
Thankfully the door is sliding open again soon enough, slipping shut right after and Merlin knows he should stop ignoring his magic when it starts to buzz under his skin but, dammit, he's so tired. "Perfect timing," he mumbles, head still hidden in his hands. "Have I told you how absolutely perfect you are today?"
"I don't think you've ever told me how absolutely perfect I am," says a voice that is decidedly not Freya's. There's still the familiar sound of a coffee cup sliding across his desk, though, pressed close enough for him to blindly grope for.
"I would hate to inflate your ego," Merlin mumbles around the bile in his mouth. There's no way to describe the sudden rush of panic in his veins, the flood of magic that surges and pulses in his chest in response to Arthur's quiet laugh, only half-familiar with the hint of royalty added to make it sound polite, not unhindered.
Arthur's trained, now. He's no longer a boy hidden in a prince's clothing.
"You have to quit cornering me at work."
Arthur doesn't bother to reply. He settles in the chair across from Merlin's desk like he belongs there, each strand of blonde hair neat and his suit pressed, clean cut and fitted in all the right places. There's no longer that constant hint of a smile around his mouth like there'd been when Merlin was visiting every day, learning who Arthur was and nudging shoulders during late-night Call of Duty matches. He says, "I got your letter" and Merlin finally realises that he can't feel anything - there's no fear, no anxious terror. He's not scared or nervous or angry he's... empty, stuck between feeling so many things that he's not feeling at all. All he can think to say is: "You weren't supposed to."
"Your mum told me as much. But... I wanted to see for myself; she looked a lot like you."
"My mum?"
"Olivia."
Oh. "Not really, actually. The hair, the eyes, the nose, the ears - thank Christ - are most certainly not mine."
Merlin doesn't realise that he's fallen into a trap until after Arthur says, "I find that hard to believe." Without thinking, he's reaching for the frames at the corner of his desk, spinning them each one at a time away from him and toward Arthur. He remembers, after Arthur's face has gone soft and his eyes are so focused, so seemingly determined to remember it all that he doesn't even take notice when Merlin says, "Christ, this is ridiculous" because Olivia plays him the same way, makes her innocent-sounding statement into a way to make him give her something she hasn't even claimed to want yet.
"You're not angry."
Arthur looks up, gaze firm and, as if he's practised for this meeting forever, says, "I've had a lot of time to get used to it all of it... The idea, at least. I was angry at first, though. If you'd been there that day, I'm not so sure I would have been able to not pummel your skinny arse."
Merlin shrugs. "Your position doesn't give you much room to be your gay, magical not-boyfriend's baby's father" and then, a silent, awkward moment later, he decides to make it worse by adding, "Congratulations on your engagement." He tugs the frames back into their proper spot, purposely not watching Arthur as he does.
Arthur is still, tone formal as he says, "Thank you" and reserved when he adds, "It should have been different but, we all work with what we have, yeah?"
If that isn't the truth, Merlin isn't sure what is. "Right."
Merlin thinks he should probably be angrier. Or nervous, he should definitely be nervous but Arthur is... Well, he's not pushing for once. Maybe it's come with age or with stability or with Sophia, who knows?, but Merlin's finding it hard to look up and be bitter with Arthur for proving to be all the things Merlin assumed he'd become - stiff, perfect and living his life as dictated by his father.
Even before Olivia, Merlin accepted the fact that Arthur could never be his. He's had years to stop caring - to give in, accept the inevitable.
It doesn't mean that he's succeeded, mind you. But he's certainly tried.
"Is there a reason you came?"
"Because I'm a masochist, obviously," Arthur replies slowly. In a display of normalcy, he even shrugs. "I wanted to know what I was giving up."
"You can't give up something you never had."
"I had you once." Merlin doesn't dwell much on that; he's too busy watching Arthur rise, straighten his jacket and tug his tie. He should probably ask Arthur to stay, give him a reason to because his magic is telling him to, vibrating and wanting. "If I said," Arthur starts when he reaches the door, back to Merlin, "that I wanted to make it better, do you think I could?"
Merlin doesn't even think about his answer. He remembers the night in Arthur's room, when he was angry and hurt and couldn't figure out why Arthur didn't understand. He says, "I'm still not willing to be your secret."
Arthur doesn't respond as he leaves.
*
It takes Olivia all of two minutes to fall in love with him; a week to stop babbling endlessly about how Prince Arthur took her shopping and how Prince Arthur invited her to London and how Prince Arthur says she's the prettiest girl he's ever seen and a less than a month for her to pull away while Merlin is brushing her hair one night and say, "Do you think I look like Queen Ygraine? Prince Arthur says I do" because Arthur promises not to keep her a secret when he comes over two days after ambushing Merlin at work with all of his regrets and not-feelings and, true to his word, he isn't too ashamed to let the world see her. He doesn't tell them they're right when they print bold titles that say: PRINCE'S SECRET LOVECHILD REVEALED, but he doesn't deny her either and that's enough for Merlin and Olivia both.
He isn't really sure when he starts to get comfortable with the idea of having Arthur in his kitchen, though; he thinks it's the third weekend Arthur shows up at his door with a bag of takeaway and, for once, makes the security staff wait outside. Olivia is running errands with Merlin's mum and they're alone, Merlin's back pressed against the worktop and Arthur's fingers tapping irregularly at the worn oak table. "Sophia and I cancelled the wedding; we're going to wait a week or so before we tell the press but I thought you should know."
Merlin should probably say 'what?' or 'why?' because he's thinking both but he... Well, he thinks he knows why but he doesn't want Arthur to tell him. He doesn't want to hear it aloud; he might not be able to stop himself from wishing again if he does.
It took too long to get used to the idea of Arthur being normal, even longer to get used to the idea of actually caring about him and years to accept the fact that Arthur wasn't quite as permanent as he'd originally thought.
Arthur shrugs, offers Merlin an uncertain glance as he stills his fingers. "I can't be out and proud; the world isn't ready and there's no way to explain Olivia, either, but I want to be here."
"I waited a long time for you to see me as someone worth your time," Arthur continues. He pauses, laughs quietly. When he does, it's the laugh Merlin remembers from those days hidden away in Arthur's room, when they lived in their own world away from reality, where it was okay to be messy and to love a boy because there was no one to see but one another.
And, Merlin thinks that if the world worked like that, it'd probably be a happier place but it's not something he has time to dwell on because Arthur isn't getting married and he wants to stay and Merlin isn't sure how he's meant to respond to that. Be okay with it? Say 'no'?
In the end, after Arthur says, "it's your choice, of course" and "fuck, Merlin, I was wrong but you were too and I'm angry but I'm trying my fucking best to look past it" Merlin shoves himself away from the worktop and says, "Tea? I think we're going to need some" because he remembers what his mother said about wondering and what Arthur said about never being complete because half of him was missing and... He's going to try this. He's going to give a little and maybe, just maybe, this time, it'll work.
*
Life is a difficult thing and it doesn't work quite the way Merlin expects. First, he falls in love with the boy he swore he'd always hate and then, before he's out of Uni or has time to see if he can even manage to keep a fish alive, he has a baby who grows up to be a constant reminder of the same person he couldn't be with. He doesn't get to flat hunt in fall because the paparazzi won't let him but he does get long mornings in bed listening to Arthur's heartbeat while Olivia sighs in her sleep, snuggles closer on Arthur's other side and gropes sleepily for Merlin's hand, settled when he brings his fingers to meet hers over Arthur's chest before they move to Clarence House and those days become fewer and farther between because Olivia gets older and it's not much fun to cuddle any more (no matter how many times Merlin tells her there's no age limit). He and Arthur don't argue over who walks the dog when it rains because they don't have one and, even if they did, there's probably a Royal Dog Escort wandering around somewhere in Clarence House waiting for them to get one.
It's not as easy as it seems in the romantic comedies Merlin is fond of but it's not just difficult because of the press and the situation and the fact that Arthur doesn't ever shout his love from the rooftops; it's difficult because they never really stop growing up, changing and becoming new, different people with every passing day. Merlin's mum says one week while Arthur's gone, visiting some foreign country to hug starving children and give them hope, that surviving change is what makes a relationship strong and Merlin pushes his mug away, reminding her again that what they have isn't really a relationship because they're not allowed to - they're just not.
And they're not allowed to be a couple, a real couple, for awhile. Olivia is nearly fourteen, brimming with secrets that make having friends difficult and the world is set in a state of constant curiosity before Arthur smiles in the middle of a televised interview and says, "Sophia has found someone who makes her very happy and she was, ultimately, very happy that Merlin and I found one another" and that's all it takes for the world to realise that, yes, Prince Arthur of Wales loves a man and, yes, that man is Merlin.
The interview makes life both easier and harder in turns. Olivia has always known, in her own way, that things would never be normal for her or her family - Merlin's magic and Arthur's position would never allow it - but she reminds them regularly that she loves how there's always something about them that she'll never have to share with the world, that she doesn't mind the story they've made up about her birth to keep the press off the impossible truth and, though Merlin always wanted better for her, he thinks maybe this was always what was best.
He watches Arthur kick the football to her on the lawn of Clarence House when she's twenty and so gorgeous that sometimes he can't believe that she's his and Arthur's and that, for once (or maybe it's been working towards this forever, who knows?) his magic did something right.